Age: 15
Postmark: Oklahoma
Be honest...did you just put your hand on the computer screen?
So much of our experience these days if filtered through our eyes. This week let's talk about a strong memory involving the sense of touch. That leaves it wide open for you. Try to zero in on a specific memory and render it as vividly as possible. We live in an age where everything is obsessively documented, but not necessarily with any depth. Let's stop doing that: being reporters on the 6 o'clock news, standing on location, in front of our lives. Start with a single memory.
When I was little I would always play in the field in my neighborhood with my friends. One day we were playing football in the field and i caught the ball and as I was running in the end zone one of my friends tackled me from behind and I broke my leg. It was the first memory I had of a feeling. At the time It was the worst feeling of my life and continued to be for a long time until I tore a ligament in my knee in high school.
ReplyDeleteOne day, when I was in first grade, one of the girls brought her pet tarantula into class. I didn't even understand why they let her bring her pet let alone a massive spider. I've always absolutely hated spiders. She walked around the room so everyone could pet it. I was shocked that everyone was petting this thing, but I wasn't about to be the only one that didn't. When she got to me i stuck out two fingers and rub them across the spider as quickly as possible. I was so grossed out because he was so hairy and disgusting and I pulled my hand back immediately. Never again.
ReplyDeleteThe day i started writing a diary about the philosophical ways i can follow in my life to solve many problems was the time i never forgot in my life. That decision and the situation at that time made a difference in my life. That situation helped me to control my present situations also. It changed my attitude towards the situations i face in my life. That situation was the worst as well as the best situation to remember in my life. The worst part of that situation was that i was so confused about my life and so discouraged due to problems in my life. But the best part was the solution i made to solve my confusions in my life by starting to write a diary and that made this problem memorable for me. This decision is so helpful for me even in my present life and i am sure that it will help me in my future to solve many problems. This is the reason that i think this situation than any other situation i had in my life.
ReplyDeleteI remember a few years ago when i was snowboarding and it was really hot. So i took of my gloves and wasn't wearing a jacket just under armor and a shirt. Well i went off a jump and fell but to brace myself i used my hands. That was a bad idea. As i started to slide down the mountain on my hands it started to burn. Sliding on snow with your bare hands is very painful. Not only was it cold but it was like a scraping pain. After experiencing that pain im not ever going to take off my gloves no matter how hot it is. Another experience i had while snowboarding was one of my first crashes. As i was going down the hill two trails were merging and i was on the side closes to the edge. I remember feeling my body sliding toward the edge with all the trees and i could do nothing about it since i wasn't as experienced. The more i started sliding toward the trees the more i started to freak out. Eventually i slammed into the tree. I don't remember how much it hurt but i remember go slowly over to the cair lift while my family was waiting there. It couldn't have been that bad since i got up after. But after that i had to wear a helmet all the time.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was in high school everyone had to take a health class. My teacher was pretty cool and liked to do strange things with the class. One day he comes in and decides to make the lesson about fear. He was talking all about how people were afraid of many different things, especially snakes. That's when he pulled a small snake out of his pocket. It was his pet snake and he passed it around the class so everyone could hold it and let it slither along their hands. When it go to me it felt differently than I thought it would. It was sliding all my hands and it didn't feel slimy like I thought it would. It felt dry and scaly, but it was felt gushy. It was weird to feel it sliding, but it was kind of cool.
ReplyDeleteAn early memory I have that involves the sense of touch is when I almost broke my tailbone. I was either 8 or 9 years old and was visiting my grandparents with my cousin for a week. They live in the Poconos so we would go there every year during the summer. One particular day, my grandparents took us to a carnival in one of the towns near them (in the poconos, "near" is like an hour drive). Once we got there we decided to go down the fun slide, where you get in a sack go down a series of steep drops and short flat sections until you get to the bottom. We had noticed that the carnies at the top of the slide were pouring what looked like cooking oil or WD40 down the slide to make it more slippery so we could go faster. Back at 9 years of age I did not know I shouldnt trust the carnival folk. It seemed like it would still be fun because everyone else wasnt having any problems. So I hopped in my sack and down I went. Everything was going smooth until on the second to last drop I caught a little bit of air but it was fine. However, the greased up slide had me going so fast that on the last drop I went flying straight into the air, coming down and landing on the lane divider on my tailbone. It instantly knocked the wind out of me so I was laying there unable to move or breathe. At first people thought I was laughing and nobody did anything until my grandpa started yelling that I was hurt. That was the only time I have ever been in an ambulence or to a hospital (as a patient). Thats why I could never forget this day even if I tried. I could barely walk for the rest of the week which made the rest of my vacation suck.
ReplyDeleteA very long time ago when I was like maybe just starting my teenage years or maybe even before we were at the Jersey shore in Margate. And we were walking along the beach and out to the outstretched rocks into the ocean and one of the fishermen had warned us it was slippery we were with friends. And I was attempting to be cautious and I slipped and stubbed my big toe on a rock. I was crying hysterically and it hurt so bad for a long time. I went to the emergency room but there were like ten people in line ahead of me. And so we went home and I just iced it and it felt numb for a long time I couldn't move it or anything. And I ended up burning our dinner as a result to add a little funny comment at the end. Because I had to go to the hospital our dinner had been left on.
ReplyDeleteAn early memory I have dates back to when I was about 6 years old. My parents took me to some sort of museum near home in NJ and there were many different things I wanted to touch. One thing I recall is putting my hand in a box where it mimics the feel of a snakes skin, a birds skin, and a dog's hair. It felt very weird, but at the same time was very cool because I was so young. I'll always remember this because I've always been afraid of snakes
ReplyDeleteOne day in 4th grade my class and i were playing in the recess yard. We had been playing dodge ball and this boy in my class was being over the top and was pushing people. He pushed me and i fell to the ground and landed on my wrist bad and could immediately tell it wasn't okay. My mom picked me up from school and we went to the hospital. It wasn't broken, and i actually can't even remember what exactly was wrong with it, but they put it in a cast type thing for two weeks. I will never forget the look on the boy who pushed me's face when i walked into to school the next day with a cast. He wrote me and note and apologized so many times afterwards.
ReplyDeleteDuring one of the first days working in my job, I was cutting the lettuce for the salads. I was given directions and guidelines to follow beforehand hand when I started, but since I did not want to follow each and every guideline including the techniques and positioning for the cutting, I encountered a problem. I was rushing the job, trying to be quick and get it over with. I got lost during the process and began to daze off and sure enough, I sliced my hand. My entire body numbed, started sweating and began to panic, I rinsed my hand off, threw away the lettuce and started over again. I was really naive and unaware about how easily I could have injured myself. "To be old and wise, you have to be young and stupid" is something my father had said in the past, and it appears to be true in my situation. It taught me a life lesson, and now the techniques are engraved into my brain, finally learning the correct way to do something.
ReplyDeleteI’d have to zero in on the comforting impression yarn left me when I first began to knit.
ReplyDeleteThough I wish I could say I harbor fond memories of learning to knit from, say, my Nana or Granny, I have to admit that I learned from Youtube.
That leaves a whimsical and romantic impression, doesn’t it?
Oddly enough, I find it sobering in retrospect.
Rather than reminiscing about the chilling touch of an elderly woman’s fingers adjusting my knitting needles, I recall the initial frustration of becoming intimate with some string and a pair of sticks. Initially the needles seemed detached and frigid resting on my fingers, and I couldn’t quite get the yarn to stay in a position that suited me. New yarn is scratchy and hasn’t had the luxury of friction as it rubs between your fingers as it’s being guided through stitches.
I didn’t use a single Youtube channel exclusively in my exploit to learn how to knit, but I vividly remember my reaction to some of the voices that would bellow from my laptop’s speakers. Some were comforting older women who cooed the importance of a strong knit/purl, whereas others were trendy, pin-up-esque knitters who preached the benefits of vegan, home-spun yarn. Generally women, and generally helpful, each of them likely contributed a trick or two that I utilize in my knitting today.
I used knitting as a calming exercise to keep my fingers busy and generate a project in times of frustration. I should mention that at eleven years old, I was an old-soul who thought in this aforementioned manner. Regardless, as I would fiddle with my needles in order to arrive at the perfect finger-twiddling rhythm, I’d sip on hot chocolate. The fulfillment of mastery was prevalent as warm liquid slithered down my throat.
These uncomfortable feelings evoke the power of awkwardness in newfound activities—not quite a rookie, but hardly a professional. The actions can only be improved by constant practice and intimacy with the project. Once hours have gone by on a single project, a familiarity with the materials blossoms. The needles are now warm and worn from heated contact with the yarn. The yarn is now soft from being pulled taut in order to perfect a difficult stitch.
My understanding with the materials is something that I believe was improved upon by being left to my own devices. If I had an elderly woman hovering over me correcting my—I would assume—constant mistakes, I would have never found that perfect way to hold my left-hand needle without producing a callous on my index finger, or I wouldn’t have leaned to roll the yarn into a ball rather than letting it move freely from the skein. Then again, perhaps I would have been told these lessons, but it wouldn’t reap the satisfaction of discovering it on my own.
I got my tattoo about 9 months ago. I was not nearly as mentally prepared as I had hoped. I had convinced myself that it wouldn't hurt because my friend had gotten her tattoo a month earlier and described what it would be like. I really relied on my sense of touch at that time because I refused to watch this guy stick a needle in my hip for an hour. I don't understand how my friend watched the whole time. I wanted to smack him so badly. I remember feeling my heart pounding the whole time I was sitting and waiting for the tattoo artist to start. It got worse when I heard the gun turn on. The beginning wasn't too bad. It was more like a constant beesting, more annoying than painful. Then he got closer to my hipbone. I could feel the needle vibrating against my bone and I almost crushed my friends hand from squeezing. My "in the arms of an angel" tattoo sits on my right hip now and I'm quite happy with it, but I can't help but get the chills when I think about the needle coming into such close contact with my hipbone.
ReplyDeleteThe memory I’m about to explain is a little humorous, but for some reason I will always remember this because it was on the first day I went out with my first girlfriend in 7th grade. A bunch of my friends and I always used to go out to the movies with each other most weekend at the local mall movie theatre, but this time I actually had a date with me. Like I mentioned before this was basically my first experience with a girl at the movies so I really didn’t know what I should do: try holding her hand, put my arm around her, and I couldn’t even consider kissing her at all yet. We sat next to each other at the movies and everything seemed to be going great. It was obvious that both of us were nervous, but we were still trying to stay close and “cuddle”. Thought the movie we both basically just leaned against each other and touched that way, but honestly I don’t think that night could have gone much better, and that simple touch actually meant a lot more to us.
ReplyDeleteI have one particular memory that comes to mind that involves the sense of touch. The memory of when I hit my first homerun in little league baseball. As an avid baseball player, this is always nestled away in a special place within my mind. Every time I play, watch, or even hear the word “baseball,” this special event comes to mind for a split second.
ReplyDeleteIt was the first game of the regular season. It was my team, The Diamondbacks, vs. my best friend’s team, The Orioles. I knew coming into the game that we had to beat his team at all costs. We were always very competitive and this would lead to the ultimate set of bragging rights. I gave him a quick smirk just before the game started to let him know that I came prepared to win.
Just before the first inning of play, my coach read off the lineup. I heard my name called out batting fourth at the cleanup spot. I immediately glanced up at my coach and he smiled back and then continued on with the lineup. He knew that after three years I had finally developed into a well-rounded power hitter. This gave me the extra boost of confidence I needed to face my opponent.
Since we were the visiting team, we were up to bat first. The first three players on my team all reached first base successfully. The first two batters had gotten singles and the third batter got walked. Now it was my turn. The pressure had now increased significantly because the bases were loaded. I can remember wiping sweat off my palms from how nervous I was. Stepping into the batter’s box was a challenge in itself, and to make things even worse, my friend was the opposing team’s pitcher. The bat was now shaking violently in my hands as I took the first two pitches. They were both strikes. I knew this was it, no turning back. I called for time and stepped out of the batter’s box to give my friend one last warning. Our eyes were locked onto each other as if we were about to engage in a ferocious battle. He delivered the final pitch. I knew this was the one. I took a giant swing and I knew it was a good one because I had felt the ever-so-satisfying feeling in my hands that every batter achieves every once in a while when ball meets the sweet spot right on the barrel of the bat. I looked up only to see that the ball had gone right over the right field fence. I stood there in shock only for a moment and then trotted my way around the bases soaking up all the glory. As I rounded third base, I could see my teammates piling in at home plate to congratulate me. After the celebration I gazed at my hands once again just to try and grasp onto that feeling I had felt when the ball made contact with the barrel. I knew that this was a special memory that I would never forget.
My first memory of touch was the summer before the first grade. My mom had a party at my house and all of the kids were playing out side all day. We were all swimming in my pool and playing in the drive way. The one kid told me he would race me down my drive way on rollerskates and the winner got to push the loser in the pool. I said ok and as we were racing down my drive way I lost my balance and fell. I had landed on my arm and at first I didn't feel anything. I went inside because I had a few scrapes. I told my mom I had fallen on my arm but it didn't hurt and then all of a sudden I began feeling terrible pains in my arm and at that very moment I had realized it was broken. My parents rushed me to the hospital and they had to put it back in place, that was probably the worst part. That was my first memory of touch.
ReplyDeleteThe first few things that come to people’s mind when they think of the beach are sand, sun, and heat. When people go to the beach it is usually during the day when it’s warm and the sun is high in the sky. I personally enjoy the sun and getting a bit tanner, but the feel of the sand at night can be just satisfying. Usually during the summer my brother and I spend time visiting our grandmother who lives in Ecuador. She still lives in the same house that she raised my mother and her siblings in. It’s an old wooden house by the shore. During the day we spent a lot of time laying in the sand and swimming in the ocean. At night, long after the sun had gone down, the whole place was covered with an even greater sense of tranquility. After dinner we would usually convince the family to start a bonfire in the sand. Sitting close to the fire I’d feel the warmth of the fire on my front and the cool breeze of the night on my back. The fire’s heat would hit me intermittently as the wind twisted it back and forth. I would close my eyes and try to compare it to the heat of the sun, but this was different. The sun poured down on you with unwavering strength, the flames felt more like an inviting and crackling glow. As the night progressed one of my cousins was always sure to provoke someone else, whether it was through stealing their sandals or snide comment. It would always end up with them running all over and eventually we all joined in on the rough housing. I can remember chasing my older cousin in the dim light of the bonfire. With every step I took my feet sank into the soft sand. The sand was cold and grainy between my toes and so hard to push my feet against. It slowed us both down immensely and every time I took a step it felt like the sand was holding on, almost as if it wanted to keep me in place. I began to sweat down my face but as the wind hit my face I could feel a wave a refreshing sensation. Although my heart was racing the wind felt like a rejuvenating caress against my skin. Once I was close enough I threw myself at him and caught him by the waist. After wrestling around and tiring ourselves out we walked to the ocean to wash up with the others who had already given in. The closer we were to the water the harder the sand became. It was becoming wetter and progressively firmer. We stood with our feet in the water and we began to wash off all the sand. I splashed some water on my face and felt a quick shock from the freezing sensation. The water trickled down my face and I could feel all the scratchy sand being wiped away.
ReplyDeleteI remember when I was in eighth grade and I desperately wanted to learn how to play the drums. My grandfather, who was a drummer and the only other musician in my family, died before I was born and I looked up to the life he lived. I was always told that I look and act just like him so in his honor I decided to learn the drums. The first lesson I had, I was so excited. I didn't know what to expect, holding my fresh pair of wood tipped drum sticks in my hands eagerly. When the teacher finally came and started me off by playing simple rhythms, I felt like I made the perfect step in my life. That my grandpa would be proud to see me doing this. As the wood bounced off the tightly wound skin, I felt the pulse of the music serge through my arm, vibrating me down to the bone but I could never ask for a better feeling. Every time I picked up those wooden sticks, I felt not only in my heart, but in my hands the presence of my grandfather and its something I will always have to hold on to, literally.
ReplyDeleteOne of the most unique physical sensations I've had is playing the viola. The viola is like a violin in that it is played under the chin, but unlike a violin it has a deep, rich sound that I fell in love with instantly. It's actually incredibly awkward to play; the arms are contorted, the chin and neck are pushed aside, the shoulders can't relax easily, and the wrist and fingers are forced to move in all sorts of odd ways. Last year, I had a crucial lesson in viola playing with my teacher, and I remember very clearly how it felt to play in this new way. Until then the tone I was able to produce was modest but weak, and my teacher demanded more. He described a number of physical changes for me to make, and once my body was poised, he told me to "grip the string with the bow. Find the adhesion there, and keep it." I clutched the bow, applied weight to my hand, and sank into the instrument. The sound was unlike anything I'd ever produced, and the feeling was even more unique. The body of the instrument vibrated beneath my chin, and there was a wonderful resistance in my right hand. I was pulling harder than I'd ever pulled while playing, but I was not fighting my viola. It was an incredible feeling, one I won't soon forget.
ReplyDeleteEvery summer of my childhood my family and I went to Maine for a week or two to visit my aunt and her family, hike, and eat absurd quantities of lobster. Every year we rented the same little cabin in Lake Pemaquid Campground. Every day we would swim in the lake, ride or bikes to the store and arcade, and have a fire at night, no matter what other adventures we had planned.
ReplyDeleteI remember the mornings the most clearly. I would wake up after my mom but before my sister or dad, climb down the wooden ladder from the loft that held my sister’s and my cots, and tiptoe out the squeaky, featherweight wood screen door, cued by the sounds of the cooling coffee machine of my mother’s location. She was always sitting at the picnic table on our cabin’s front porch, drinking her coffee and enjoying her alone time in the exquisite morning. And then I’d come in!
Luckily, as annoying as I was (and still am much of the time), I understood my mom’s need for morning peace, and I enjoyed those quiet moments with her. She’d make me a mug of coffee loaded with milk and sugar to dilute the coffee’s damaging effects, and together we’d just sit at the picnic table and quietly take in the beautiful morning together.
I remember the feel of the airy wood, chilled by the night, which made up almost every accommodation at the campground. But the air was my favorite part. It had a really distinct smell and feel, my favorite smell and feel, to be completely honest. It was slightly cool, so as to make you feel like it might be damp, but so crisp that it was perfectly comfortable, and every little ray of sun could cut right though, uninterrupted, so it almost tickled when it hit your skin. And it smelled like morning. I have no idea how I can describe the smell of the air besides “morning,” it smelled clean and fresh and the lake added just enough lake smell, but not the gross kind of lake smell. If there was rain the night before the wooden porch would even add its own scent into the mix, and the only word that comes to mind is “perfect.”
I am so grateful for living at the jersey shore. Just to clarify, I am Italian, and I am not a guido. Anyway, I love riding my bike down to the beach. its the best in the morning when it isn't too hot out yet. As you ride and start to break a sweat you can feel the sweat cooling from the ocean breeze. Right before the beach i would try to pedel up the bridge as fast as i can. I would always have my body board under one arm while i held onto the handle bars with the other. as i got to the top i knew i was almost there. i glided down the bridge and right up to the beach where i left my bike in the cool sand. I never wore shoes when i went to the beach. I would even ride the bike barefooted. Jumping in the cold salty water was so refreshing. I really liked the feeling of body boarding and the rush behind your legs. on windy days you could feel the ocean spray on your face. It was different from rain. when it rained everything was darker and colder. Sometimes it would rain so hard that i couldn't see too far in front of me while catching a wave.
ReplyDeleteGreat, vivid memory Nick. Reminded me of a time I went swimming in West Hill Lake, with my Dad and brothers, in the rain...the way the raindrops dimpled the surface as they poured down. Awesome how one memory catalyzes the next.
DeleteOne of the stongest memories I have involving touch is the first time I carried my daughter and felt her in my arms. I held kids before. I have a neice and 3 nephews that I helped raise and babysat since I was 12. But theres nothing like your own child. The sheer joy you have and love is overwhelming. They are so fragile and so light you almost feel as though they are not there. Its almost like you are holding on to a ghost or a piece of paper. You feel the lightest touch against your skin and the feeling like at anytime you could break her. Eventually they grow up, but there is nothing like that first time holding them.
ReplyDeleteOne the strongest memories for me was when I was in the 1st grade in Mrs. Sanders class and we were learning about our senses and there was a box with cold, wet spagetti and apart of this "experiment" was to put our hands in the box and touch it. At the time I didn't know what it was and this happened to be something I remember until today because it was so icky.
ReplyDeleteMy memory of touch differs somewhat from what everyone else has posted. Perhaps it is because most of these posts deal with the physical feeling of pain, of people injuring bones and bruising bodies. My strongest and most touching experience of feeling, comes in correlation with that of the post card. I never really had an appreciation for my senses. I never considered life without them, and although there were constantly moments all over the world where I was somehow surrounded by the less fortunate, I never really connected with them. It was about 5 years ago, when my uncle suffered a stroke, that I really began to understand what feeling is, however. During the stroke, he lost the "feeling" in the entire left side of his body. He could not move his hand, arm, leg, or thigh. It seemed as if it was just dead. I remember leaving school and getting on a flight to poland immediately to go see him, as everyone thought he would not make it. When we arrived at the hospital, he was still in the post-trauma of stroke. He could barely make out the shapes of our bodies to know someone was standing besides him, let alone speak or even call us by our names. I just remember him slowly lifting up his right arm, and pointing to his left, trying to explain that he could not move it nor feel it. He cried tears, and we all cried with him. I grabbed his left hand and held it against my cheek, soaked in tears. It was at that moment, that for once in my life time, I actually could understand feeling, and I could feel him, his lifeless hand, and his pain. I grew to appreciate my sense of touch, my ability to feel things, slowly after as he began to get better in the coming months when we returned for summer vacation. He had to stumble around in a custom made wheel chair as he was incapable of moving on his own. I spent time with him every day, he was slowly regaining speach. You see, the stroke had injured the part of his brain that not only regulated the left side of his body, but was also responsible for speech. I would push him around in his wheel chair around the suburban hometown in poland, and we would just spend time together with me talking to him about everything. I knew he could understand, and he nodded many times, but he could not properly formulate words to respond to me in an understandable means. I remember us coming up to this tree. Im not sure what kind of tree it was, other than some european nut tree. I do remember my uncle lifting his right hand up, and grabbing one of the nuts. He rolled it around in his hand, and just felt it. He then proceeded to rip off a leaf off of the tree, and did the same. He began crying as he took both the nut and leaf and tried forcing it into his other hand. He spread apart his left fingers with his right hand and put the nut there, and tried grasping it, but it was to no avail. The look of hopelessness on his face crushed my heart. Such a simple thing, feeling, that I never appreciated, would be something he would have given up anything for at this point, to get back. But he couldnt. Due to the limitations of technology and medical procedures at the time, there was nothing more he could do except hope that his system could rebuild itself and his brain could re-learn to function. He passed away last year in april, but the memories we shared still live on. To this day, I sometimes take strolls through the 1500+ acres of woods behind my house in New Jersey, and just grab as much as I can of nature. I touch everything, and try to feel it, both physically and spiritually. Not everyone has this sense, so why not use it to the best of its abilities?
ReplyDeleteWow, Kamil. Just wow. Very moving and thoughtful.
DeleteWhen I think of something that really involved my sense of touch, a painful experience comes to mind. It was probably the most painful experience of my life so far. How it all started out was me and my best friend Lawrence were riding our bikes together. I was in the sixth grade at the time and it was a nice, warm autumn afternoon. We were riding around the streets in our neighborhood not too far from where we lived. Just on the block next to our neighborhood there was a local pizza shop called "Pizza Queen" where me and my family frequented all the time. Behind the pizza shop next to the parking lot, there was a big dip that we called "Pizza Hill". Me and Lawrence decided to go there to ride our bikes down like usual. At the time, we were riding around right in front of my house on our way to Pizza Hill. My house was located on the corner of probably the widest street in America. It was so wide, we were sure it could be used as a runway for a plane. Me and Lawrence were on the left side of the street getting ready to cross over to the other side where my house was. I looked down the street before I crossed and saw there was a car turning on the street at the top. I figured I was far enough down the street to make it across before the car came so I started pedaling fast to make sure I did. Right when I was about halfway to the other side, there was a pothole or some unknown sewer hole right in the middle and my front tire of my bike hit it and I then felt the back of my bike go up into the air. Next thing I know, I flip over my handlebars and feel the pain of the impact right on my gut and my upper torso when it hit the handlebars. I gripped onto the rubber grips of my handlebars as tight as I could to remain in control but I was already well onto my way down towards the ground. Because I was holding on so tight and the awkward position of my front tire, my bike did a quick 90 degree turn and my whole upper body went flying towards the ground. Next, I just remember looking directly towards the black asphalt of the street right before my entire face slammed right into it. I was gripping my handlebar grips so tight I couldn't use them as a brake to soften the impact. After my face hit, I let go of the bike and the rest of my body was sent into the ground. The lady who was driving the car down the street saw what had happened and stopped and got out to make sure I was okay and not dead. It must have been a mixture of shock and embarrassment because I did not feel any pain immediately after it happened. It wasn't until I looked down at the asphalt and saw two small, white pebble-looking objects sitting there that seemed sort of out of place. They didn't exactly look like rocks but I kind of suspected they were teeth. I rolled them around on the ground and realized that they most likely were. The excited look on my friend's face as he ran over to me pointing at my face assured what I suspected. When I hit the ground, my mouth had taken most of the impact. I placed my hand on my mouth and felt my swollen, busted lips and felt around on my teeth and felt the sharp surface of where the other halves of my two front teeth once were. I looked down at my hand and saw the blood and teeth and quickly looked around at my situation. Immediately after I felt all the pain come in one big rush. I put my hand over my mouth by instinct and started crying and didn't even try holding back the tears, so much pain was felt all over my body especially my face. The lady driving the car and my friend helped me up as they walked me over to my nearby house.
ReplyDeleteI could see that in slow motion...
ReplyDelete(And feel it, unfortunately.)
It was Halloween and my dad's side of the family was gathered at my Nana's. My crazy old aunt kath showed up at noon with a big black cardboard box with a hole in the top. She put it on the kitchen table behind the lunch that was set out. Whenever anyone asked about it an adult would say "Don't touch it, get some lunch" ,or simply tell us to go outside, completely ignoring the question. Every time I walked by I tried to peer inside, but it was too deep and I just saw black. After dinner we all went outside to the picnic table and the big black box was brought out. Then my crazy old aunt kath told us a story about her deranged second cousin who's brain was inside this box. Now, we had been coming up with theories all day and had decided it was a special Halloween dessert so this was bizarre and disappointing. We all eagerly waited in line to feel the brain. The whole thing felt squishy, slimy, and clumpy. When I pulled my hand out it was covered in brain goop and little green squares. When everyone had gone, and we all kind of knew what it was, my crazy old aunt kath took the lid off and revealed a bowl of spaghetti mixed with green jello and a little water. We were all horrified and disgusted, but she really seem to enjoy it.
ReplyDeletewhen I was little my favorite snack was peanut butter you never would think that one day that snack could be taken away from you. Well one day in first grade i was sitting there enjoying the sweetness and creaminess of a nuttbutter cracker, all of a sudden my stomach begin to turn and turn I felt like my insides were about to explode my throat begins to seem try and the taste of the wonder buttery flavor of the peanut butter begins to become masked with the sudden urge to vomit the exact thing that I loved so much. Running out of the class room like i never ran before I felt confused and dazed on why my body was acting in such a strange manner seemingly like it was rejecting the food that I had just consumed. That one moment changed my entire prospective on the food that I once loved after that day I had my last taste of the sinfully sweetness of once loved peanut butter from that day on my body has somehow completely rejected the idea of consuming any sort of peanut related foods.
ReplyDeleteI was paddling out, lying flat on my belly with my tiny arms spinning like propellers attempting to move all sixty pounds of me plus the surfboard forward. A good ten minutes later I was finally far out enough in the ocean. I pushed my self off of my stomach and sat on my board as a waited.
ReplyDeleteI was seven years old and I was finally about to surf my first wave all by myself.
I looked back and saw a solid looking wave slowly rising behind me. I rolled back onto my stomach in and let the wave carry me forward. When I was ready, I pushed myself onto my feet. I struggled to maintain my balance as the wave propelled me forward. Then suddenly my foot slipped, sending my entire body off the side of my board. Before entering the water, I had managed to take a breath. I reached up to move my board before rising from the water. Unfortunately I rose from the water just as a wave was passing over me. Instead of taking a breath of much needed air, I swallowed what felt like a gallon of salt water. Then in my second attempt for hair, my board knocked me in the head. I finally got out of the water. When water was shallow enough for me to walk, I unstrapped the leash from my ankle and ran into my dad’s arms and cried for about an hour.
Although I’ve had plenty of awful wipeouts following this one, I remember this one clearly. I think its because unexpected pain hurts much worse than expected pain.
I was born in South Korea and raised there for half of my life. Korea, which is a small country, took me only one month to travel around the entire peninsula. Because of that there were a lot of ocean/beach. In the morning when tidal flat showed up, up to afternoon, there were muddy ground where I felt disgusting and yet funny feeling as I stepped on the muddy field. tour guide lady told me to be extra careful since there are a bunch of eels, crabs, etc on the ground crawling and we might kill them. We were all given a basket to hunt for them for lunch. As I tried to look for any of them, I couldn't find anything else, rather, I only saw mud. Digging in the mud for thirty minutes, I got exhausted due to hardwork and sunlight that thirsted me to death. I told the tour guide lady, all I can find here is just mud. She showed a brief smile and took her hand in the and pulled out an eel. It was a blindshot. She told me "its everywhere u can't see". I was surprized to hear anything like that because at a young age, I had this notion "seeing is believing" really big in mind that to me, if I don't see it, it does not exist.And this tidal flat experience was the turning point of my realizing the reality, and not living by my thoguths.
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